"But isn't it true?" asked Francine.

"It may be true, my dear; but nobody knows. Emily hasn't breathed
a word about it to any of us. And Mr. Morris keeps his own
secret. Now and then we catch him looking at her--and we draw our
own conclusions."

"Did you meet Emily on your way here?"

"Yes, and she passed without speaking to me."

"Thinking perhaps of Mr. Morris."

Cecilia shook her head. "Thinking, Francine, of the new life
before her--and regretting, I am afraid, that she ever confided
her hopes and wishes to me. Did she tell you last night what her
prospects are when she leaves school?"

"She told me you had been very kind in helping her. I daresay I
should have heard more, if I had not fallen asleep. What is she
going to do?"

"To live in a dull house, far away in the north," Cecilia
answered; "with only old people in it. She will have to write and
translate for a great scholar, who is studying mysterious
inscriptions--hieroglyphics, I think they are called--found among
the ruins of Central America. It's really no laughing matter,
Francine! Emily made a joke of it, too. 'I'll take anything but a
situation as a governess,' she said; 'the children who have Me to
teach them would be to be pitied indeed!' She begged and prayed